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Don’t show, don’t show, don’t show. He felt like fucking Elsa, what with how much he had to keep stuffed down right now, and it took everything he had not to smash something in front of Maeve.
He must have failed, however, because her face reddened and she took a step back. “I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t want to impose—if it makes you uncomfortable—”
“No!” He flinched, gentled his tone. “No. It’s all right. I don’t—” He closed his eyes, dragged every last bit of his species’ masterful ability to lie and deceive to the surface, smiled, and said, “I’d be happy to welcome you back home. I’ll tell Merle, okay?”
She let out a breath, a small smile lighting up her face. “Okay.” She turned to go inside, stopped, faced him again. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Rhun.”
Her words clawed him bloody.
Chapter 19
Isa had passed the point of being sick to death of Calâr’s voice several hours ago.
They’d been on the road all day, hiking toward Nornûn, and Basil had begun a subtle interrogation of the suspicious fae. Calâr was forthcoming with information, glossing over the truth and possible holes in his knowledge with a skill that could have been admirable in another person.
She’d been forced to listen to his explanations and tall tales, all the while restraining herself from choking him. At some point she started whetting one of her blades while they walked, relishing the fantasy of driving it through his lying guts.
Thankfully, Basil seemed to keep her warning in mind. His attitude toward Calâr hadn’t warmed much, and knowing what she did about him by now, she could clearly see his reserve in his interactions with Calâr.
With her, however, Basil displayed a wholly different side. He never mentioned what happened in the bathroom last night—and she’d been all too happy to avoid the subject, her body flushing with a potent mix of embarrassment and lust every time she remembered—but there was a deeper level of sensuality in the way he treated her. The looks he sent her way heated her insides, he regularly slowed down to walk beside her, his shoulder warm against hers, his fingers oh-so-accidentally brushing her hand, and he used just about any excuse to touch her.
And, despite her emotional turmoil, she couldn’t scrounge up the will to tell him to stop. She knew she should. It would be the right thing. But by the Fates, she couldn’t.
They were resting beside a lake, Calâr having wandered off to relieve himself, her hawk floating idly on air currents above, when it happened.
She was sitting on a boulder, face turned up toward the sun, as she heard Kîna’s keen cry—indicating danger. Jerking her head up, she looked over at Basil—who’d taken off his boots, rolled up his pants to his knees, and was wading into the shallows. Her eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? Didn’t he know—well, damn, of course he wouldn’t.
“Basil!” she yelled.
He glanced up, his brows drawing together—and then he slipped and slid into the water.
No, he was dragged.
She’d grabbed her bow, had an arrow ready to shoot within a second, and jumped up.
Swish.
Her arrow flew, rammed into the body of the water fae who tried to pull Basil under. The beast was strong, had yanked him almost completely under the surface despite Basil’s valiant struggle. The fae thrashed, bucked, its scaled body bobbing up and down. Basil’s head broke the surface, and he hauled in air.
Isa fired another arrow, and another, both diving through the water to find their target, giving Basil cover as he hauled himself toward the shore. She kept another arrow nocked and pointed at the lake just in case.
It hit her when Basil heaved himself on the pebbled beach on all fours, breathing heavily. Magic tingled over her skin, grabbed her heart, her soul—and let go. Her arms began to tremble. Her lips parted. She shivered all over.
She’d just saved his life.
Turning, she looked at him, dripping wet and trembling, and time slowed to a crawl. My debt is paid. She was free to kill him now, to break her curse.
Involuntarily, as if drawn by an invisible force, her arms moved, her stance shifted, until the arrow she’d nocked pointed at Basil’s head while he let it hang down, his eyes closed, his breathing choppy. Easy. It would be so easy. A clear shot.
The fingertips of her right hand brushed the feathers on the arrow’s fletching as she pulled it back on the bowstring.
Clear…shot.
I don’t want to kill him.
Her hands shook, made the bow and arrow quiver.
Survive.
